"Mum, Dad, I'm 18. I'm joining the war," Ademola announced, adjusting his designer shirt.

His mother's Cartier bracelet clinked against her glass of champagne as her hand trembled. "Don't be foolish, my precious! What about your admission to Harvard?" Tears smudged her perfectly applied makeup as she turned to her husband. “Babajide, say something!”

Chief Babajide looked up from his iPad, where he'd been monitoring his oil stocks. “Let the boy go. It's what all the elite families are doing. Make us proud, son. Your Trust Fund will await your return.”

Ademola beamed, his whitened teeth gleaming. “Thanks, Dad!”

He joined other privileged youths at Camp Luxury, where personal butlers carried their designer military bags. Training consisted of spa treatments disguised as endurance tests and champagne tasting marketed as survival skills.

Their barracks? Five-star suites with Egyptian cotton sheets. Their drill sergeant, a retired yoga instructor, insisted on calling push-ups “ground healing exercises.”

Deployment day arrived. Ademola woke at the ungodly hour of 11:45 AM, his silk pajamas damp with anxiety sweat. His roommate, Olayinka, son of a tech mogul, was already awake, applying cucumber slices to his eyes.

"Bro, can you believe we're actually going to war?" Olayinka whispered, careful not to disturb his face mask.

“I know! I had my chef prepare special organic smoothies for battle energy.”

The battlefield was a manicured lawn between two luxury resorts. Both armies arrived in air-conditioned buses, their "weapons" consisting of feather dusters and premium bubble solution imported from Switzerland.

"CHARGE!" The command came through bluetooth earpieces.

The "soldiers" advanced, designer boots barely touching the grass. Someone complained about the sun damaging their skin, prompting a battalion-wide pause for sunscreen application.

Meanwhile, in actual war zones, farmers abandoned scorched fields. Real soldiers, sons of mechanics, market women, and teachers, faced death daily. Cities crumbled, families fled, and the earth drank real blood.

But in their bubble, the privileged children played their game. When someone got soap in their eyes, they called a timeout for emergency eye drops flown in by private jet.

The "war" ended with a gala dinner where participation trophies were distributed. CNN covered it as “The Most Exclusive Battle of the Century.”

Back home, Ademola proudly displayed his "Purple Heart" (actually pink and studded with crystals) while his father's companies profited from rebuilding war-torn regions.

Their bubble remained unpopped, floating high above the real carnage below, where actual wars continued to rage, fought by those who couldn't afford to turn conflict into a country club game.